


Girls To Talk To

by clio_jlh



Series: Harvard-Radcliffe 'verse [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Female Character of Color, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, Lesbian Character, Male-Female Friendship, Motherhood, POV Female Character, Race, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four young women meet as Radcliffe freshmen in 1959.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls To Talk To

**Author's Note:**

> All graphics and banners by my partner in this big bang, kymercl.  
> A companion fic to [When the Game Ends We'll Sing Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/23215), this time about those Radcliffe ladies. References and influences at the end.  
> Thanks to [](http://verity.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**verity**](http://verity.dreamwidth.org/) , [](http://the-dala.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**the_dala**](http://the-dala.dreamwidth.org/) , and [](http://weepingnaiad.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**weepingnaiad**](http://weepingnaiad.dreamwidth.org/) for their help in shaping the story, and [](http://ali-wildgoose.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ali_wildgoose**](http://ali-wildgoose.dreamwidth.org/) for the amazing beta job.

  


_Lesley to bed,_  
Wellesley to wed,  
Radcliffe girls to talk to. 

 

 

  


When Janice Rand arrived in the Radcliffe Quadrangle, she was thankful that her grandmother had taught her how to keep up appearances. Her shoes were shined, her collar starched and white, and she'd travelled in a pleated skirt to reduce wrinkling. Her trunk had been shipped ahead of her, and in it was the result of an entire summer spent working in the local coffee shop by day and sewing the fabric she'd purchased by night. They'd used the smartest McCall's patterns, the nicest fabrics she could afford, and there was no reason Janice should feel shabby at all.

Yet, standing with her little case in one hand and her portfolio in the other, she saw all the other girls in their machine-knit woolens and embroidered jackets, and suddenly felt rather awkward. She felt a touch on her elbow, and looked up to see a girl, not much older than herself, in a black and white striped sweater.

"Can I help you get to your hall?" she asked, smiling broadly. "I'm in the Key, so you can ask me anything!"

"Yes, this letter says I'm in Bertram Hall?" she asked.

The girl indicated which staircase—she called it an "entryway"—was Janice's, and then said, "Don't forget the mixer tonight, down in Radcliffe Yard!" So many people to meet! Janice had never been shy, but she'd also never been out of her hometown.

The entryway was cool and sun-lit as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor room. Such old, sturdy buildings, and she couldn't help thinking of the women who'd been here before her. She walked into the large room and saw a Negress perched atop one of the desks, staring out the window. She was wearing a smart suit and her long straight black hair was slicked back into a high ponytail.

"Hello," the girl said, slipping off the desk and walking toward Janice. Her voice was low and friendly. "I'm Nyota Uhura. I know you said on your residence form that you wouldn't mind sharing with a Negro, but it can be different in person, so I wanted to say no hard feelings and I can move out any time." She smiled, but Janice could tell it was forced and just a little nervous.

Janice smiled back as warmly as she could. "I hope you don't move out, as you're the first person I've met here. I'm Janice Rand and I'm a scholarship student, so I hope that you won't mind sharing with _me_!"

Nyota laughed as she shook Janice's hand. "Of course I won't."

"Good, because you're quite pretty and I would very much like to draw you sometime."

"You're an artist?" Nyota asked.

There was a bit of a commotion at the door then, and a familiar-looking red-haired girl stumbled in, giggling and tugging her trunk after her. "Oh dear," she said. "That wasn't the dignified entrance I was hoping for. I knew the trunk needed one more big _push_ but I may have been over-enthusiastic!" She held out her hand. "My name is Gaila."

"I'm Nyota," she said, "and this is Janice."

"Pleased to meet you both," Gaila replied, her ringlets bouncing.

Janice glanced down at Gaila's trunk and noted that her last name, Kane, matched that of one of the lecture halls in Harvard Yard. Then she realized why she recognized Gaila: that very June, Janice had poured over the photos of the society wedding of the year in the rotogravure section of the local paper. Gaila had been one of the bridesmaids, her older sister the bride, and Janice never forgot a face. She felt the nerves return. Gaila seemed friendly, but she was a real heiress, and Janice would be living with her for a whole year.

"I know it seems like quite a lot," Gaila was saying, "but I've never lived someplace cold before!  Only traveled there for the skiing.  San Francisco never really gets cold enough for big coats and such."

"I haven't, either," Janice admitted.  "But I did spend the spring knitting, so I'm hoping that the sweaters I have will suffice."

"You knit? How wonderful!" Gaila said.  "I'm always envious of anyone who can be _useful_. Finishing school does not teach you anything that can actually help anyone, other than French.  It's rather frustrating.  I'm hoping for more, here."

"She's also an artist of some sort," Nyota said.  

"Are you really?" Gaila asked.  "I hope you brought some of your work."

"Works in progress," Janice said.  "They're quite unfinished."

Gaila waved a hand.  "No matter. I'd very much love to see them, if you like."  She paused.  "Sorry.  I can be demanding! Feel free to say 'no, Gaila' at any time!  I also talk far too much, so you girls shouldn't let me run my mouth like this.  Nyota, you should tell us all about yourself now.  I mean, if you want to."

"Well," Nyota began, as Janice went to get out her portfolio, "I've lived in a few cold places.  My father is a diplomat and we've travelled often, though our permanent home is in New York.  I also speak French, and I find it very useful, particularly if you don't want other people to know what you're talking about."

"You're devious," Gaila said, wagging a finger at Nyota.  "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it?  Well, we'll get along fine. We'll confound everyone's assumptions about us!"

"Am I the last to arrive?"

They all turned to the door and saw their fourth roommate, flanked by what must have been her parents. She had chin-length blonde hair and reminded Janice of Eva Marie Saint in the new Hitchcock movie, all cool competence, the very picture of a Radcliffe girl. And yet, Janice didn't feel nervous at all.

"That's fine," Janice said. "We all only just arrived. I'm Janice Rand, and this is Nyota Uhura, and this is Gaila." She went along with Gaila's apparent reluctance to broadcast her last name; perhaps she wanted to be known for something other than her family.

"My name is Christine Chapel," she said, "and these are my parents."

"We just came to see our girl settled in," said Mr. Chapel. "You all must be hungry after your travels. Can we treat you nice ladies to a sandwich before we head on home?"

Which is how Janice found herself sitting in a large booth at a nearby diner, feeling very grown up with her chicken salad platter and coffee, not an ice cream soda in sight. She sat across from Christine, between Gaila and Nyota, as they all talked about their study plans.

"Our Christine is a scientist," said Mrs. Chapel.

"Oh Mother," Christine said, blushing a little.  "I've only had that summer program so far.  I hope to _be_ a scientist, or a physician at least.  I admit that I love being in the lab and poking at things to see how they work."

"And is that an engagement ring?" Nyota asked.

Janice hadn't noticed before, but there was a diamond ring on Christine's third finger, and she felt oddly disappointed to see it.  

"Yes," she replied.  "Roger really _is_ a scientist; he's getting his PhD now.  He was one of the instructors at my summer program."

"My, my," Gaila said.  "Not even at college yet and you've got your MRS!"

"What about you, Gaila?" Janice asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I haven't made up my mind!" she said.  "There are so many possibilities and I'm interested in just about everything.  But I do like to travel, so perhaps some sort of world history?"

"Will you be studying art, Janice?" Nyota asked.

"Art history, yes," she replied.  "Then I can work in a museum, or perhaps a gallery."

"But not painting yourself?"

"You paint?" asked Mrs. Chapel.  "How marvelous!"

"I do," she admitted, feeling shy.  "I'm not sure well enough to call myself an artist, but I've had a lot of encouragement, and I plan to take a studio class here and there.  But Radcliffe isn't an art school; I came here to become a bit more well-rounded.  I come from a small town, and would like to learn all I can."

"An admirable attitude," proclaimed Mr. Chapel.  "You'll be a good influence on our Chrissy.  Not that she needs much urging to hit the books—more like to get her nose out of them!"

"Oh, Dad," Christine said.

"You can count on me for _that_ , Mr. Chapel," Gaila said, winking, and he laughed.

"What about you, Miss Uhura?" Mrs. Chapel asked.  "And may I say, what a beautiful and unusual name you have."

"Thank you," she replied.  "My grandfather immigrated from East Africa just before the first World War.  Now my father works for the United Nations, so I've been lucky enough to travel quite a lot. And I've always been good with languages.   I plan on taking Russian this year.  Perhaps I'll be a diplomat, myself."

"I'm sure you'll find much demand for such a skill," Mr. Chapel said.  "And at least our government knows well enough to hire talent whether they're a white man or a Negro or a Chinaman or whatnot.  I know it's easy for me to say, as we live in Pennsylvania and there isn't much trouble going on there, but still."  He rapped his fingertips on the desk to emphasize his point.

"Thank you, Mr. Chapel," Nyota said.  "I appreciate the support."

"Well, of course, dear," Mrs. Chapel said.  "And if Christine decides to bring you up to the summer cottage, Mr. Chapel will make sure there's no nonsense about it."

Mr. Chapel nodded.  "That I will do.  A nice gang of girls here for you, Chrissy," he said, holding her hand.  "Yes indeed, a real nice gang of girls."

They left soon after, trotting up ahead a bit to allow Christine to say good-bye to her parents privately, then returned to their room to freshen up before that evening's freshmen mixer in Radcliffe Yard.

"Thank you so much for humoring my parents," Christine said, looking a little embarrassed.  "They're pretty square, but they do mean well."

"I don't know if I'd call an integrationist square," Nyota replied.

"Then you should have seen how relieved my father was that I wouldn't be a single girl at college," she replied.  "I went to an all-girls boarding school and he'd much rather I'd gone to Wellesley or Smith or Bryn Mawr than here.  Happily Roger helped to convince him."

"Quite a convenient fiancé," Gaila said.

"He's very forward-looking," Christine replied.  "Now, what I'd like to see, is Janice's art."

"Yes, you never did show it to us earlier," Nyota said.

Well, she couldn't avoid it forever.  She lived with these girls now.  "All right," she said, and laid her portfolio case open on one of the desks.  "It's mostly sketches and little watercolors—so much easier to do on the train."  She put her hands behind her back, so she could wring them together without looking too awfully nervous.

"Oh my," Gaila said.  "These are really lovely.  Who is this boy and girl? It seems like you know them."

"My brother and sister," Janice says.  "I helped my grandmother take care of them after our parents died."

"I'm so sorry," Gaila said.

"How long ago was that?" Nyota asked.

"About five years now," Janice replied.  "They were too young to really remember."

"I'm sure you've told your siblings all about them," Christine said.

Janice smiled at her. "I have."

Christine looked closer at a sketch Janice had made of one of her fellow travelers.  "How much life you get in so few lines," she said. "So economical."

Janice shrugged.  "Well, when you're sketching on a train …"

"But I think it's just your style," Christine went on, looking at some of the watercolors.  "You use just a few colors but they're so bright.  Is this what you usually work with?"

"Actually no," Janice said, a bit surprised at the depth of Christine's questions.  "I prefer oils and pastels.  As you say, I like bright colors."

"Well, I don't know nearly as much about art as either of you," Nyota said, "but I agree that these people, they almost come right off the page.  I feel almost as if I know them."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Christine said, taking a step back.  "I didn't mean to dominate the conversation.  I just took a few art appreciation classes at school."

"Not at all," Nyota said.  "I love learning what other people know.  Isn't that what we're here for, after all?"

Christine put her hand atop Janice's and squeezed, and when Janice turned toward her she smiled.  "Then I will use my very slight expert knowledge to say that you really must continue with your own work.  At least, I hope you will."

"Well, with all you girls to encourage me, it would be wrong not to," Janice replied, but she was looking at Christine all the while.  "And now we really should go, shouldn't we?"

The four girls walked the few blocks from the Quad to Radcliffe Yard for the freshman mixer.  A tent had been set up with plenty of lights underneath and hundreds of girls were wandering to and fro. Many of them already seemed to know Gaila.

"You know how it is," she said. "Boarding school, group trips, weddings, summer parties, that sort of thing. But I want to meet _new_ people, not the sort you see in the same old places."

Janice very much didn't know, but could imagine, based on what she'd read in the copies of _Vogue_ and _Town and Country_ she'd found in the library. Gaila didn't act much like those heiresses seemed to, so it was no wonder she wanted to meet other people. Christine knew a few girls as well, from both school and the town where her parents had a summer home.

Even Nyota attracted the other Negro girls in their class—apparently there was a club they all belonged to, though they said anyone was welcome to come and discuss the protest movements that had been growing in the south. The three other girls all pledged that they would like to, very much. Funny how distant it had all seemed on the news, but now that it affected her roommate it felt all the more urgent. Janice wondered if any of those other Negro girls had met Dr. King or the lawyers who'd argued the Brown case.

Of course Janice knew no one save her roommates, but as she looked around the yard she couldn't imagine that she was the only girl who'd be saving her pennies and working at the library during her free hours. At least, she very much hoped she wouldn't be.

The four of them ended up near the gate, talking mostly among themselves. Then Nyota, looking out toward the street, made a tutting sound with her tongue. She cocked her head and crossed her arms. "And what are you gentlemen doing here?" she asked.

A handsome young man, blond with intense blue eyes, smiled. "It's a mixer," he said. "We came to mix."

Nyota rolled her eyes, which Janice couldn't understand— _she_ certainly wouldn't mind having the attention of such a man.

He extended his hand. "I'm James T. Kirk. And you are?"

She shook it reluctantly. "Miss Uhura," she replied.

"No first name?" he asked.

"Not for you," she replied.

Gaila moved forward quickly. "My name is Gaila! I'm her roommate."

"Well, Gaila, Miss Uhura, it's very nice to meet you both," Mr. Kirk said. "May I introduce Scott—we call him Scotty, Bones McCoy, and Mr. Spock. Say, Spock, you can converse with Miss Uhura on the freedom of lacking a first name." He nudged his somber-looking friend ever so slightly in Nyota's direction. "While I talk a bit more with the lovely Gaila. Do you happen to have a last name, or is your room just for women with one name?"

Gaila giggled, and Janice was struck at the way she behaved just the same with boys as she did with girls. "You know that nice grey stone lecture hall in Harvard Yard?" she asked

"Yeah," Mr. Kirk replied. "I think I'm going to have a history class there. Why?"

She leaned forward, forcing the three boys to lean toward her. " _That's_ my last name," she whispered.

"Does that make you a madcap heiress?" Mr. Kirk asked, grinning. "Because one of the things I wanted to do when I got to Harvard was meet a madcap heiress." He smiled.

"Not yet but maybe I should be!" She giggled again, then turned to Janice and Chris. "These are our other roommates, Christine Chapel and Janice Rand."

"Hello," Janice said, shaking their hands.

"Janice is an _artist_ ," Gaila said.

Janice felt her face flushing. "Gaila, I'm merely a serviceable painter!" she protested.

"I'm sure I'd love to see your work," the man called Scotty said, and Janice had to smile.

Christine was hesitant to join their little party, and Janice wondered if she worried that her engaged status would cause awkward feelings. But Gaila pulled her closer, announcing, "And Christine is going to be a doctor."

"Is that so?" Mr. McCoy said, moving closer. "So am I."

"I should warn you," Christine said, lifting up her left hand, "that I'm engaged to be married."

Mr. McCoy took yet another step toward her. "Well," he said, smiling, "so am I."

"Oh!" Christine said, surprised, and her shoulders relaxed.

"Bones's excuse is that he met his girl when he was a toddler or something, but how did a young girl like yourself get taken so quickly?" Mr. Kirk asked.

"He was teaching at a summer program I attended, at Bryn Mawr," Christine replied. "He's a medical archaeologist, finishing his PhD at Penn."

"Well," Scott said, "clearly us mere mortals cannot compete with _that_."

"Oh _honestly_ ," Nyota said, looking at the gate beyond them.

Janice looked up to see that while the boys talking to them might have been the first Harvard men to get the bright idea to crash the Radcliffe mixer, they were far from the last.

An enthusiastic looking girl with a Crimson Key sweater on walked by. "Oh don't worry, ladies!" she called out. "It's a tradition for the boys to crash our party eventually!"

Janice was secretly pleased that they had been near the gate and therefore had been the first girls spoken to, especially by someone as handsome as Mr. Kirk, but Nyota just shook her head.

Mr. Kirk grinned. " _Apres moi, le deluge_."

* * *

"I know you didn't think much of them at first, Nyota," Gaila said when they were back in their room, "but I thought those boys were charming, almost sweet really."

"That serious one, Spock was it?" Christine said. "He seemed to take a liking to you."

"He did," Nyota admitted. "I suppose they weren't so bad, aside from that Mr. Kirk."

"Oh Nyota," Janice said, "he did ask us to call him Jim."

"I thought his friend Leonard was very kind," Christine said. "I think Roger would be relieved, to know that I'm making friends with other engaged people. And we'll have so many classes together."

"And there you are," Gaila said. "That leaves Scotty and Jim for Jan and me. And I don't think I have to ask which one Jan hopes will be calling on us soon."

"Jan, a boy like that can't be anything like serious," Nyota said.

"I know the type," Janice replied. "A little arrogant and full of themselves, used to having any girl they please. But they do know how to make a lady feel special. Besides he's here on scholarship, just like me. And I don't know, something about him—he might be a good friend to have, I think, even if he'd make for a bad beau."

"I hope so," Nyota said, "because he's going to be in my Russian class every morning!"

"Diplomacy is an excellent skill to develop," Christine replied. "But may I ask, about Spock—I think he may be Jewish. And would you prefer a Negro boy?"

Nyota shrugged. "His religion doesn't matter much; one white boy is the same as the next. I can't imagine that he would be serious about me. Though there have been some Jewish people involved in the movement. They have some understanding of what we're up against, I suppose. And I expect that the Negro boys will be along soon enough." She sighed. "But thank you for asking, Christine, and not just assuming."

"If it's questions you want," Gaila said, "how do you get your hair so wonderfully sleek?"

"I'll tell you," she said, "just as soon as Jan shows us how she did that lovely thing with _her_ hair!"

"Yes, Jan," Chris added. "You almost make me want to grow my hair again! Or get a fall, just so I could try that lovely woven affect you've achieved."

"Oh," Janice said, patting her head. "Everyone in my hometown is so used to it, I'd forgotten. It's really quite easy and yes, Chris, you could do it with a fall. I'd be happy to show it to you."

"I just knew that college would be like this!" Gaila said. "A lovely long slumber party, only with books and the occasional boy!"

"Now Gaila," Chris said. "You know that the three of us, we have to get ready for careers after this. We have to take this seriously."

"I will, too," Gaila said. "I promise. I'm really quite intelligent and I'm sure you all will inspire me to crack down and work hard. It's just so easy to _seem_ silly, and it puts people at ease, you see."

"I understand completely," Janice said. "So many people, they don't much like a smart girl, so you have to smooth out the rough edges a bit."

"Can we all agree to put an end to that?" Nyota asked.  "We're all smart girls in our own ways or we wouldn't be here.  I say we let that show!  Out in the world they might not like it so much, but at Radcliffe I believe it's encouraged."

Gaila nodded.  "We're all 'black stockings' as the boys apparently call us," she said.  "We may as well act like them."

"Perhaps we can help each other," Christine said.  "Old habits are so hard to break, and it will be so nice to have other intelligent girls to talk to."

"We can pinky swear, as we did in the playground," Janice said.  "I think all four of us can hook them together, can't we?"

Gaila wasn't familiar with the concept, so they showed her, and when they all had their fingers crooked around each other they began to giggle.

"This is serious," Nyota said, though she was laughing too.  "We are swearing that for the next four years, we will let everyone see the smart girls—no, women, the smart women that we are.  Do you swear to this?"

"I swear!" they all said, as solemnly as they could.

Janice looked at her roommates—her friends, now, she was sure of it—and thought about four years spent learning, and allowing oneself to be that smart girl.  She could scarcely believe that it was happening, but she could hug herself, she was so glad of it.

* * *

  


Christine was trying to work—really she was—but she couldn't quite concentrate on her latest results for her thesis experiments. Usually the sound of Janice working, and jazz on the phonograph, was a soothing background that allowed for productivity, but her anticipation made her too nervous.

"Don't think I can't hear you sighing over there," Janice said.

"Sorry," Christine said, and put her pen down.  "My stomach is in knots over poor Nyota.  I thought my data might take my mind off, but then I remember discussing it with Leonard, and then that makes me think of Spock, and I feel sad all over again."

"Of course you're upset," Janice said.  "Of the four of us you're the one who has the best idea of what she's going through, since you're in love as well."

"True," Christine said.  "I'm not sure I could do what she's doing.  Roger is central to all of my work, and to pull him out of the middle of it would be devastating."

Janice cocked her head.  "Remember, you're becoming a doctor for yourself as well," she said.

"Of course," Christine said.  "Of course I am."

"Good," she said. "So you can take a look at this? Give me your honest opinion?"

Christine set her work down, chalking it up as a loss for now, and moved behind Janice to look down at what she'd been working on: a small blue bird in a tree. "It is awfully twee," Christine said.

"I just wanted to make something _happy_ today," she said.

"Lord knows we'll need it," Christine said, patting Janice on the shoulder, and Janice reached up to grasp her hand. "And thanks, for the reminder."

"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" Janice said, turning to look her in the eye.

The front door of their suite opened and Gaila rushed in. "Is she back yet?" she asked.

"No," Janice replied.

"Good," she said, and collapsed into a nearby chair. "I admire you girls for being able to work. I was at the library but I can't remember a single bit of the reading I did."

Janice sat back and sighed. "You're not alone," she said, pushing back an errant lock of hair and streaking her cheek with the green pastel dust that had accumulated on her palm. "This is rubbish. And I only need one last piece for the final show."

"And I can't make heads or tails of my latest results," Christine said. "I simply cannot concentrate."

"I'll make some tea," Gaila said. "That always helps."

By the time they'd drained their cups, Nyota had arrived back in the room. She looked drained and no sooner had she shut the door behind her than all three of her roommates had jumped up to embrace her and then settle her in the middle of their couch. Christine and Janice sat on either side, while Gaila perched on the quickly cleared coffee table.

"Can I make you a cup of tea, dear?" Gaila asked.

"No," Nyota said, sighing. "I'm fine."

"Of course you're not fine," Janice said, "nor should you be."

"You needn't pretend for us," Christine added. "So what did he say."

"He didn't say anything," Nyota replied. "We went for a walk and I presented all of my reasons for ending our romance—the difference in race and religion, my obligation to the movement—and he listened to me as he always does. Poor lamb, he'd started our conversation saying that we should be coordinating our graduate school applications. He had no idea. I wonder if I deceived him somehow."

"Oh I don't think so," Gaila said, soothingly.

"And then he said that clearly I'd given this a great deal of thought, and my arguments were sound. He had no desire to interfere with whatever work I felt I needed to do in order to, as he said, improve our imperfect world. He felt there was no reasonable counter argument to make. And then—" she smiled through the tears in her eyes—"then he said that while this wasn't the outcome he'd hoped for, that he was relieved that we could part as friends, that he'd done nothing to diminish my feelings for him. And I said that if anything I admired him even more, for the respect he'd always shown to me. Then he walked me back here and kissed me goodbye."

"Darling, I'm so sorry," Janice said, wrapping an arm around her.

"If even Spock feels I'm doing the right thing, then I must be," she said. "Everyone thinks so. I just—oh I wish it didn't hurt so much!"

"Come here dear," Christine said, pulling Nyota's head against her shoulder. "You can cry now; it's okay."

"You're doing what you feel is right," Janice said. "That's the important bit. We can help you face the sadness now, but you must be able to look _yourself_ in the mirror in several years' time."

Gaila had taken her hand. "And I say that the first way we can help you is by having ice cream for dinner, and then bringing back a bottle or three of wine and listening to every single girl group record not just in this room, or this entryway, but in the entirety of South House!"

Nyota chuckled a little in spite of herself. "I admit I could do with some Supremes right about now."

"That's right!" Gaila said, standing. "Singing and crying and drinking red wine got my mother through all of her divorces, so it's good enough for us!" She pulled Nyota to her feet. "Come on, girls, let's change. Capris are dressed up enough for the soda shop."

As they walked away, Janice turned to Christine, still next to her on the couch. "Poor Nyota. I've never been in love so I can't imagine, though I'm sure you can."

"I could never be so brave as to give up a man like Spock," Christine said, "nor yet Roger. It must be wrenching, to not be able to love as you please."

Janice looked at her with a sudden kind of intensity, the way she stared at an object she might draw or paint, and Christine felt self-conscious. "Yes," she said. "It must be."

* * *

  


The spring had been a solemn thing, with all of them working diligently on their senior projects. The boys down in Lowell House were busy as well, of course, but had been scarce for other reasons. Christine only saw Leonard when they bumped into each other in the lab, and found that she missed him a great deal. It didn't help that Roger had been nearly incommunicado on a dig in Rhodesia since the Christmas holiday.

But blessed, blessed spring break had arrived, and all that work was behind them. For the first time the boys didn't join them at the Chapel summer home in the Poconos, opting instead for the McCoy beach cottage down in South Carolina. The girls understood; Nyota and Spock's wounds were still raw, the hurt still recent. But the house felt empty without them.

They'd spent much of the day playing lawn bowling out on the village green, a welcome distraction and a good excuse to get out of the house. They'd lingered over dinner, as they often did, and now they were sitting on the floor in the living room, backs against the couches and chairs, finishing off their second bottle of wine. Christine didn't recall their drinking _quite_ as much wine during previous vacations as they had on this trip. It wasn't just Nyota's grief; Christine could feel the future coming, a door closing behind her, horizons narrowing. A future she'd happily chosen four years ago when she was a very different girl, but then, no one gets everything they want.

"We are dull girls," Gaila said suddenly. "And I can't see any reason for it! Just because the fellas aren't here doesn't mean we can't have any fun."

Nyota raise an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we go down to the tavern and entertain the local boys?"

"Of course not! Pah on all boys, _I_ say. No, we can make our _own_ fun, like we did in boarding school. Right, Christine?"

"I don't know what you mean," Christine said stiffly, though she wasn't sure why.

Then Gaila winked at her and made a kissing face, saying, "Of course you do."

"Kissing games?" Janice asked.

Gaila shrugged. "When there are no boys around, why not kiss the other girls? It's just in fun, and none of us have had a proper date in _weeks_. Besides, who would I want to kiss so well as my girls?"

Christine felt rooted to the spot with no idea how to respond. She turned to Nyota, who had the same hard, defiant expression she'd worn so often since her break-up with Spock. "I would have no objection to some fun," she said, sounding like her former beau. "I'm not too proud to admit that I've missed the kissing. Among other things."

Janice looked at Christine. "Radcliffe is supposed to make us sophisticated women of the world, right?" she asked. "Though you always have been, really."

Then Christine thought, the _hell_ with the future. It could—would—take care of itself. "If that's so," she said, "then what do we need the bottle for?"

"That's the way, Christine!" Gaila said. She leaned over and in that cheerful manner only she could manage, pulled Nyota into a kiss. Janice and Christine watched Nyota respond passionately, almost greedily, and it wasn't long before Gaila had climbed into her lap.

"So," Christine said, "I suppose it's just you and I." She felt suddenly shy.

But Janice was smiling and putting her hand on Christine's knee. "I suppose so," she replied, and they were leaning in closer, giving in to the inexorable pull.

Their lips met and it was everything Christine had hoped and feared, a roar in her ears and a crackle in the air and every cliche she'd ever read in a dime store paperback. They kissed again, and again, and again until they were breathing each other's air, pressed up against each other as though they could push through skin. In the far-off distance Christine could hear a sound but she paid it no mind, preferring to concentrate on the soft press of her tongue against Janice's.

At last they pulled apart, breathless, and Christine realized the sound was Nyota clearing her through while Gaila giggled.

"My, we won't have to worry about you two, will we?" Gaila said. They were standing now, holding hands. "We're going up to your and Nyota's room, so you and Janice can use ours, all right?"

Christine couldn't quite find her voice so she merely nodded, and she could see Janice doing the same out of the corner of her eye.

"Good. Have a nice night," Gaila said, winking and waving before leading Nyota up the stairs.

Janice shrugged. "Might as well go up ourselves," she said.

Christine nodded, but she needed a moment to breathe, to let this all sink in, what they were about to do—what she _wanted_ to do. So she wandered around the ground floor, turning off lights and bringing the wine glasses and empty bottle into the kitchen, and Janice followed her. And it did give her space to think, but was also such a domestic ritual that her mind went to other places, other ways of living that, she knew, weren't possible.

The summer cottage had five bedrooms upstairs, one a master for Christine's parents (who of course weren't there) and four rooms each with two twin beds. Even though the boys weren't with them, the girls had doubled up as they usually did, so Janice and Christine walked into the room that Janice was sharing with Gaila. Unsurprisingly Gaila's side of the room looked as though her suitcase had exploded onto her bed; Gaila had the kind of disorganized messiness that came from growing up with a staff to clean up after you, though she always did her part in the common areas.

Janice's bed, though, was tidy and inviting, and they sank down onto it, eager to get back to kissing. Christine wondered if this was how boys felt all the time, thinking about kissing and about what was under girl's blouses and all of that. They were laying on top of each other, rolling as much as they could on the narrow bed, legs entwined, and it was a strange thing to feel Janice pressed against her, soft and warm. She didn't want to open her eyes, lest the moment vanish, and so used her other senses to guide her. Christine felt along Janice's waist, slipping her hands under the other girl's cotton top and then over her bra.

"Wait," Janice said, as best she could when they were still kissing. "Wait."

Christine pulled back. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No!" Janice said. "No, I just, here, sit up."

Christine did and Janice followed. Then, watching Christine all the while, she took off her top, her shorts and panties, and her bra. Janice had seen her naked briefly a few times, of course—they'd shared a room for nearly four years—but now, in the moonlight coming through the window and the one small light on the nightstand, her creamy skin glowed and Christine could stare all she wanted at Janice's curves.

Janice reached up to her hair and began removing pins, pieces of hair falling into her face as she did so. "Well?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Isn't it your turn?"

"Oh! Yes," Christine said, and took off her own clothes, rather more clumsily she thought, but Janice seemed appreciative enough.

Janice put her handful of hairpins on the nightstand and shook her hair, looking like that girl who'd come out of the sea in that spy movie Jim was so fond of. "Did you do more than kissing, when you were at boarding school?" Janice asked.

"Yes," Christine admitted.

"Then you know what to do now."

"I think you probably have a good idea," Christine said, before pushing Janice back down onto the bed.

It was an easy thing after that, kissing and stroking breasts and buttocks while their thighs were busy rubbing and squeezing against each other. They would have made quite a sight, gasping and cooing as they humped more and more desperately, chasing that elusive "little death," and that was something Christine knew, to keep going until they got the fireworks. But it seemed to take no time at all before Janice's breath hitched and her muscles tightened, with Christine following shortly after that.

Christine rolled off onto her back to catch her breath, and glanced over at Janice, whose long yellow hair was spread out across the bedspread. She smiled at Christine, then giggled.

"I think I know now why they always smoke after, in movies," she said, and reached for the pack of Camels and the lighter sitting in the small metal ashtray.

Christine sat up and opened the window next to the bed. The room looked out into the back, so no one would be able to see two nude girls leaning on the sill, blowing smoke into the warm night air.

They were quiet for a moment, then Janice asked, "Did all the girls do more than kiss?"

"No," Christine said. "And many of them stopped when they got themselves boyfriends."

"But you didn't stop."

Christine took another drag to buy herself time to answer. "I didn't have a boyfriend, and I was curious. When I was a sophomore one of the senior girls showed me, after a party, and for some nights after that. There was a small circle of girls who did more than kiss, and I ended up among them. And when I was a senior, I showed the younger girls in my turn."

"My goodness," Janice said. "But I suppose those girls are married now?"

"Most of them, yes," Christine said. "And I soon will be."

"Is it different with Roger, then?" Janice asked.

"Yes," Christine said, "though I'm not sure I'd say it's better. But he takes good care of me, and he seems enthusiastic about my becoming a scientist, and really, that's so much more than other men."

"You're a lucky girl," Janice said. "Everyone thinks so."

Christine turned to her. "But do you? Sometimes I wonder. I said yes to him four years ago and so much has happened since then. I wonder if I'm even the same girl."

"If you want to marry him, then you should," Janice said. "Do you?"

Christine looked out at the trees, and thought of Roger's brilliance, the way he encouraged her when almost no one else would, how he accepted nothing less than brilliance from everyone around him, and even then had singled her out as his choice even though half the girls in the program had set their caps for him. She thought of his letters, long and thoughtful and never condescending but expecting her to rise to his level. "I do."

"Well that's that," Janice said, and a long, comfortable silence followed.

Then Janice said, "I wonder what might have happened to me if I had known a girl like the ones you knew at school."

"What do you mean?"

"I think—I think I've always liked girls rather more than I should," Janice said. "I would go to the movies and have a funny feeling about Kim Novak or Grace Kelly, and sometimes about a woman I saw in the street. I just didn't think there was anything to be done about it."

"I see."

Janice cocked her head. "Am I shocking you?" she asked, worried.

"Not really," Christine replied, and put her hand on Janice's thigh to reassure her. "I mean, I hadn't noticed, of course, but I know there are such girls. They all seem to go to New York."

"Yes," Janice said. "I'll admit, when I met Jim, and he made me feel just like those movie stars did, I had a little hope. But he moved on, and so did my ideas of having a life like other women."

"Oh Janice," Christine said. "Do you really think so?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. "Please, Christine, don't say anything."

"Of course not," Christine replied. "Though you know, I've even read that some people are trying to get it reclassified, so it won't be a disease anymore? And at least you'll be an artist, among artistic people. I'm sure that will make it much easier."

"I hope so," Janice said, "because there's nothing for it. But I'm so glad you were my first girl."

"So am I," Christine said. Then, before she could over-think it, she continued, "You're the dearest girl, Janice, really you are. You should have all the best things. You've already had it so hard with your family and all; it seems wrong for life to give you more burdens to carry. I just wish I could make this better for you."

She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and smiled. "How about showing me everything those boarding school girls taught you," Janice said.

* * *

Christine was up first, putting the coffee on and picking up the paper from the stoop. Janice came in next and to her relief there wasn't a bit of awkwardness over the events of the night before. They were planning out a breakfast of eggs and bacon when the other two girls came down.

"Now girls, I hope no one feels bashful about last night," Gaila said.

"Not at all," Janice replied. "Should we?"

"Of course not!" Gaila said, smiling broadly. "Also Nyota has something she'd like to say."

Nyota sat down at the kitchen table. "I want him back," she said. "The entire evening, all the while I was kissing Gaila, I was thinking of Spock, wondering what he was doing. I know I made the decision to end things with him for all the right reasons but how could it be fair to any other man, to always be thinking of Spock?" She sighed. "I could live without him, but I don't want to."

Janice and Christine looked at each other, surprised. "You seemed so sure, last month," Janice said. "You'd thought it through so carefully."

"Maybe that was my problem," Nyota said. "Maybe you can't make these decisions only with your head."

"Then when we return to school, we'll talk to the boys," Christine said. "And we'll see what can be done."

"I hope he can forgive me," Nyota said.

"Of course he can," Gaila said. "You were so careful to explain that it wasn't him."

"And now that I've changed my mind?" she asked. "Quite a thing for a supposedly intelligent woman to be doing."

"I don't think being changeable means being capricious," Janice said. "I'd like to think that I'm flexible and open. And if I were him, I'd be so glad to have you back, I'm not sure I would worry overmuch about how it happened."

"Oh, you're such wonderful friends," Nyota said. "I'm so lucky to have met you."

"We're all lucky," Christine said. "But let's get breakfast on the table. It's spring clean-up day on the trails, and we all have to pitch in."

"Yes, and I think some nice physical labor will do us wonders," Janice replied.

They got up then and all set about cooking. But Christine couldn't help but think that in all the time she had spent kissing Janice last night, she'd never thought of Roger at all.

* * *

That night they were too tired for alcohol, and opted instead for ice cream sodas and a long game of four-handed rummy out on the porch once the sun went down. They were well into it when Christine noticed headlights sweeping across the back yard, indicating that a car had pulled into their driveway.

"Who could that be?" Janice asked.

"I don't know," Christine replied, setting down her cards to go to the door. Their little summer town was entirely private, so she wasn't worried about safety, figuring it was some neighbor returning a tool or similar item that one of them might have left behind during their work day.

But when she opened the door, she saw Jim, Len, Scotty and Spock standing on her back stoop. Three of the boys looked tired, but flushed with excitement, while Spock seemed almost green with nerves. And all at once she realized why they were there.

Christine opened the door, and seemed to take in the entire situation at a glance. "Nyota is out on the porch. Just a moment and I'll get her."

"Thanks," Jim said.

But Spock apparently couldn't wait, and started walking around the side of the house just as Nyota did the same. They met in the middle, under one of the lamps illuminating the side garden, and as the others watched Spock first reached out to her, then dropped to his knees before her. She embraced him, clutching his head to her waist, and even the excited shouting of their friends could not take their attention from each other.

* * *

  


**Radcliffe Class of 1963**   
_Fifth Anniversary Report_   


CHRISTINE CHAPEL KORBY. _Address_ Chicago, Ill. _Occupation_ Doctor, researcher in tropical diseases _Degrees_ MD, Univ. of Chicago. _Husband_ Roger (Univ. Of Penna., '57), June 17, 1963.

As my friend Nyota is only too aware, there is a special kind of exhilaration when one can work hand in hand with one's husband. I've secured my MD and am working further on a PhD, focusing on the markers that certain kinds of diseases leave on the body. I am hoping that some of my techniques will be able to assist archaeologists like my husband on the digs of the future.

Chicago has been remarkably hospitable for two aloof academics, but we manage to make it to both coasts many years, and we're always welcoming visitors to our dear city.

 

GAILA KANE. _Address_ San Francisco, Calif. _Occupation_ Student of the world.

While my lovely friends continue to add to their string of accomplishments, I concentrate on adding to my string of acquaintances. It is said that we are only six degrees separated from anyone on earth, and I am doing my best to make that number even smaller.

Of course, this isn't all superficial. I've begun to think of what I can do, in my position, to make the world a bit better as so many of my friends have. I'm sure I will find this way to be of service. We can only hope!

 

JANICE RAND. _Address_ Greenwich Village, New York. _Occupation_ Artist, model.

Hello to all from the center of the art world! I am happy to report that I am on the cusp of my art paying more of the bills than my modeling! Of course, much of my art also uses me as the model, but that's because I know what I'm doing. Even as these protesters and so-called "hippies" come into the city, women stand a bit separate. I feel sure that as long as I continue to focus on women as my subject, I will never run out of ideas.

And the modeling has brought me in closer contact with the greats of the art world than I would have been otherwise. Don't believe all that you read in the more sensational weeklies; we're actually a quite hard-working lot, toiling away in our studios by day and gathering in the evenings mostly to discuss the very art we've spent the day creating. Thanks to certain professors I'm able to more than hold my own in these free-wheeling discussions, and while I'm sure I'm not making myself a popular evening companion when I prove the men wrong, I figure I'm doing my part to uphold the honor of Radcliffe!

 

NYOTA UHURA. _Address_ Berkeley, Calif. _Occupation_ Assistant Professor, Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. _Degree_ PhD, Harvard University. _Husband_ Spock '63, October 15, 1967.

The very happy news is that my husband and I have secured tenure track positions here at Berkeley. We are so fortunate to be able to do what we love and to work side by side. And now, of course, is an amazing time to be thinking about language—never before have I had such a sense of it being a living, breathing thing, with so many words bubbling up from the vibrant youth culture around us on the west coast. My focus is rapidly becoming the way in which the culture attempts to replace older words that are tarred with pain with newer words that speak of pride. This can be seen not only here and in other youth centers such as London and Paris, but also in former colonies as they struggle for independence. This summer Spock and I are traveling to Kenya and a few other countries on the African continent, not only to visit my extended family now that we are married, but also to do research on the neologisms that have arisen.

I've learned to enjoy teaching as well, which is an unexpected benefit. I had often worried, when I was at school, whether I was letting down the movement by opting for the academic life. But quite the opposite: I've realized that I can be a symbol for the movement every time I stand in front of a class and lecture, as a Black woman with an advanced degree. I can be a role model, even a source of inspiration to certain students, merely by being visible.

The other great change, of course, is that we were married last year, once the Loving decision was announced. It is amazing to know that our marriage will be legal in every state, but as Spock is wont to say, there is so much left to be done to ensure that the world that we will be bringing our mixed-race children into will be ready to receive them.

 

* * *

  


Janice didn't normally answer the phone when she was painting; she had a machine for that. And after her recent move from the busy art scene of Greenwich Village to a small coastal town in California, very few of her friends would call her in the middle of the afternoon. But she'd been standing and staring at her latest piece for a good twenty minutes, so perhaps it was time for a break.

"Hello?"

"The divorce papers came today."

"Oh, Christine." Not surprising news, not even unwelcome given the circumstances, but nevertheless very sad. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks," she replied. "So I'll be coming out to stay with Leonard for a few weeks, get my feet under me. Something tells me he'd appreciate the company."

Which was true; Leonard was going through his own divorce, and Jocelyn had moved back to Georgia shortly after Christmas, taking little Joanna with her. But Janice couldn't help but think that she wouldn't mind the company, either. "And your work?" she asked.

"I'm on sabbatical this semester anyway," she said, "but I don't know. I think I need to get out of Chicago permanently. There's nothing for me there, now. And all of you are out in California."

"Not Jim," Jan said.

"True. How is he?"

"Oh didn't you hear?" she said. "Carol's expecting. She's due in September."

"Babies are just busting out all over, aren't they?" She paused, then added, "I suppose, given what's happened, it's for the best that Roger and I couldn't have children after all."

"You're only twenty-eight," Janice said. "Perhaps you'll have them with someone else."

"Perhaps," Christine replied, in a tone that implied she thought that unlikely.

"I'll be coming to the city myself in a few days," Janice said. "Nyota said she was going a bit stir-crazy and might need some help, given that her mother is so far away."

"You are the only one of us who knows anything about babies. You're like Anne of Green Gables, taking care of little ones when you were a little one yourself."

"Pity I won't be having any of my own," she replied.

"You're only twenty-eight," Christine said.

"Well, unless God has changed how they're made," Janice said, "I don't see that changing for me."

"There's always science."

"Yes," Janice said, "why don't you make that your next topic of research, Dr. Chapel?"

"Wow."

"What?"

"No one's ever called me that."

Janice smiled, even though Christine couldn't see her. "Don't you think it's about time they do?"

* * *

About a week later, once Christine was settled at Leonard's home, Nyota invited them over for dinner. Janice was staying with Gaila at the Kane townhouse on Nob Hill, just a quick drive from the Spocks' little place in Berkeley so she could be close without being underfoot. She could tell that Gaila was glad for the company, as well.

"Scotty's studying for his oral exams," she said as she drove them into Berkeley, "and when he isn't being a hermit he's a _real bear_."

Janice held on as Gaila drove her MG around a corner on what she was pretty sure was only two wheels. "From what you've said I gathered he wasn't your only beau these days," Janice said.

"No," Gaila said, downshifting and then barreling up a hill, "but he's the only one who _counts_."

"Did he teach you how to drive?" Janice asked.

"No, Jim taught me, when I visited him in Berlin."

"Of course he did," Janice said, because she'd been in plenty of cars with Jim driving, and, well, it was always an _adventure_. Of course, Jim had combat training, so Janice had always felt safer with him than she did now with Gaila. Though she wondered if perhaps that was just because he was a man, which would be sexist, and the staunch feminist in her reared up. She let go of the arm rest and sat up straight, resolving to be confident in Gaila's driving.

Then Gaila swerved the car as they turned onto the Bay Bridge, and Janice was glad the little convertible had seat belts.

When they arrived at Nyota's house, she took one look at Janice and said, "Gaila was driving? Let me get you a daiquiri."

" _Thank you,_ " Janice replied.

"I hope it's fine that we're having fondue," Nyota said, leading them into the kitchen. "I've been eating nothing but bread and cheese for the last two weeks."

"No, that's fine, that's fun," Janice said as she followed Nyota and Gaila around the corner. Then she stopped short, glad that no one was behind her. Christine looked so different as to be almost unrecognizable. Her hair was cut very short into the newly popular shag style. She wore a woven shirt under a dark red suede vest, brown boots to the knee … and hot pants.

Christine was wearing hot pants, and Janice had forgotten how to breathe. She'd thought she was over this—had worked hard to be over this, but Christine was divorced and wearing hot pants and standing in Nyota's kitchen.

"Well, look who joined the seventies!" Gaila said, grinning.

Christine smiled back, and the fog cleared from Janice's head. New package, same girl. "It was time for an update," she said. "I'm not in the lab, so why not?"

"You skipped the sixties entirely," Nyota said. Christine always had dressed more conservatively than the rest of them, even Nyota, who'd been wearing her hair in its natural curl since she'd come to Berkeley.

"I bought a few mini-skirts!" Christine protested, but she was laughing. She turned to Janice, sobering a little, even looking a bit shy, and asked, "What do you think, Jan?"

Janice took a breath and smiled back. "I think you listened to me and finally started dressing your _age_ ," she replied. "And that cut is very flattering."

"I'm glad you like it," she said, touching it absently with her left hand.

"Well, if everything's ready, we should let Nyota get off her feet," Gaila said.

"I've been sitting _all day_ ," Nyota said. "Grading, grading, grading. Christine didn't let me get up once."

"Don't think the rest of us will be any different," Janice said, helping to bring things into the dining room. "You could go at any minute."

"You do look tired," Gaila said.

"I am, but I'll be _fine_ ," Nyota replied. "Now, did you bring it?"

"I did," Gaila said, pulling a record album out of her bag. "The last one ever."

"Last one of what?" Janice asked.

Gaila showed the cover, already familiar to Janice from the posters she'd seen around town. "Beatles album," Gaila said.

"Did they break up?" Christine asked. "Oh, maybe that's what Len was talking about."

Nyota shook her head. "Well at least that's a thing that hasn't changed about you—completely ignoring popular music and film. And you don't even have the lab to use as an excuse!"

"Music first or talking first?" Gaila asked.

"Talking," Nyota said firmly. "Mostly from Christine. I've been good _all day_ not asking one question until the rest of you arrived, but even I have limits."

"Let the woman eat," Janice said.

"It's okay," Christine said, smiling a little. "I don't know that I have much to say that you don't already know. After Christmas I went to the summer house to think, and I realized I wanted to leave the ancient dead behind with Roger. I'd like to work among the living."

"I'm sure that would do you a world of good," Gaila said.

Nyota nodded her agreement. "I admit, sometimes I envied you, that your work and Roger's work was so entwined, that you had such a partnership—"

"But we never did," Christine said, shaking her head. "He was shaping me into what _he_ wanted. But I was just the first attempt. He soon realized how much simpler it was to just have adoring students and sleep with them. Of course, that's how I'd started."

She drifted off for a moment, her eyes meeting Janice's, and she looked as lost as Janice had ever seen her, had ever felt herself. Janice smiled, and Christine smiled back.

"Anyway," Christine continued, "Len says there's plenty of post-doc funding in his department, so I'll work up an application by the end of the month."

"How _lovely_ ," Gaila said. "Now we'll all be here. Well, except Jim, but he's never anyplace for long."

"I'm so glad you moved here too, Jan," Christine said. "It will be nice to be among friends."

"Friends like Len?" Nyota asked slyly.

"Yes, of course Len, why?"

"Well, you two have always gotten along so well, ever since college, and now you're in such similar situations. I simply thought, perhaps this good timing is no accident."

Janice closed her eyes, not quite able to watch Christine reply to this, and two thoughts came to her at once: that of course Christine and Len were supposed to be together, and the memory of her own grandmother, at commencement, chastising her for letting Jim "get away." She could feel, suddenly, how lonely she still was despite all the girls she'd dated.

"Oh Nyota, we're just friends and always will be," Christine said. "I certainly couldn't bend to all his moods, you know that."

"You can't match us all up," Gaila said. "I won't allow it, and neither will Janice. Right?"

She opened her eyes, and didn't think she'd ever loved Gaila more. "Right," she said.

"I had to say it. It was right there!" Nyota said.

"We'll forgive you _this_ time," Gaila said. "Christine, now that you're one of us, you'll learn that us single gals need to stick together."

"I see that!" Christine said, laughing a little and looking at Janice.

"Well, I say enough talking," Janice said. "Why don't you put on that record now, Gaila?"

"Good plan," she replied. "Now, everyone be quiet the first time through at least. I haven't heard it yet either."

Gaila went to the living room and switched on the stereo, then came back to the table. After some bit of John silliness, a folkish guitar melody started, and John and Paul sang together in close harmony.

Janice's throat hurt; she felt too much all at once, all her nerve endings firing. It was why she'd asked for the music, to cover over all of it and let her not speak for a while. But the music was making her feel even more—sadness about the end of the band, yes, and the end of something else too. Her youth, perhaps, though that was a silly and pretentious thought for a twenty-eight year-old.

Then Paul sang: _you and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead_ . Christine caught her eye and for once Janice couldn't decipher her expression.

John was singing about a horse, confusingly; the song had changed. Then he and Paul sang together again: _all I want is you_.

And Christine was still staring at her.

* * *

_April, 1966_

When Janice moved to New York it didn't take long to get caught up in the downtown bohemian swirl. And after about three years of being surrounded by such an alternate way of living, she knew for sure what she'd only suspected (and feared) at Radcliffe: she was a lesbian.

So she did what she did about nearly all her revelations, and wrote it in a letter to Jim. He replied with a telegram:

GOT YOUR LETTER STOP YOU ARE WONDERFUL STOP MUST TELL YOU A STORY STOP I AM BUYING A TICKET FOR YOU TO COME TO LONDON AS SOON AS YOU CAN STOP

In London, Jim told her about that summer that he and Len spent backpacking around western Europe—and, apparently, having a great deal of sex.

"Of course you did," Jan said. "Len was about to get married and you're, well, _you_."

"No," Jim said. "With _each other_."

" _Oh_." Jan sat silent for a minute, then said, "Well, how about that."

"How about that," Jim said. "So we're in the same boat."

Jan wondered just how similar their situations were. "Did you love him?"

"Always will," Jim said. "But what can you do, right?"

She nodded. "You know, that spring break senior year? One night—it was really Gaila's idea but—"

"You and Christine?" he asked.

She nodded. "Christine had done it before—apparently having girlfriends is quite the done thing at boarding schools. Not so much in farm towns."

"No," Jim said. "Did you love her?"

"Always will," she replied.

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other.

Then Jim said, "Well, ain't we a pair!" And Janice had to laugh at that.

He continued, "But now you know, and I'm glad you know. I just—I wish I could give you those kids you want. You _deserve_ to have a family. But we'd tear each other apart. I feel badly that you're so alone now."

"Me?" she asked. "I'm an artist living in Greenwich Village! I'm not lacking in female companionship—that's how I know for sure. I'll be fine. But you, Jim—the Air Force, and—"

"Actually?" he said, smiling as though he was surprising himself. "It's really all right. Better to give all that up for the wild blue yonder and spy games with the Soyuz than some pointless desk job with the grey flannel suit and commuting in a Buick to a ranch house with all the newest appliances and a girl you're lying to every single day and children you know won't respect you when they're grown. Anyway no one expects their fearless flyboy is a fairy. I really do love spending time with women— _that_ part isn't hard. And maybe someday I'll find one who doesn't need so much of me."

"So much?" Janice asked.

"You're a heart-and-soul sort of girl, Janice," he said. "Not everyone is. My aunt and uncle lived very separate lives and they were happy."

"I don't know, Jim," she said. "You seem like a heart-and-soul sort of boy to me."

"Well, part of that heart is in someone else's hands."

She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "I know," she said, and they laced their fingers and squeezed tight.

After that it was easier to tell most of her friends. Her brother and sister were so young still, just starting out in their lives, and her grandmother nearly at the close of her own; if she ever did tell them, it would be with a woman on her arm and marriage on her mind, and not before.

Christine really already knew, had known since that night during spring break, but Janice sent her a little note anyway and got a very large bouquet of flowers in return. She talked to Gaila a few weeks later, when her friend was making one of her regular stops in New York between Europe and the west coast. Gaila, of course, was all support and enthusiasm and reassurance that "artistic types" got by just fine; why, look at Gertrude Stein, a Cliffie herself, and that was forty years ago! Gaila knowing meant Scotty knew, but that was all right as he'd always been particularly non-judgmental, just as a personality trait. And Jim knowing meant Leonard knew; he sent her a book called "How to Pick Up Girls" though he noted when he signed the inner flap that she wouldn't need it, because "all you've ever had to do is toss that hair of yours and they all come running."

Nyota and Spock, she wasn't sure of, and she fretted the entire train ride to Cambridge. The brick-paved sidewalks seemed dusty and full of old ghosts and she wondered how they could stand to live here, but presumably they had their heads stuck in books much of the time.

Janice sat down on their couch, a cup of green tea at her elbow, and told them as simply and honestly as she could. When she was done, Nyota took her hand, and then Spock's.

"If there's one thing I've learned," she said, "it's that love is love. You've always been so supportive of our love; how can we deny you yours?"

"I sincerely hope that you find the person who will make you happy," Spock said, and kissed her cheek.

For the first time in the process, Janice felt tears fill her eyes. "Thank you," she said, and hoped that was enough.

* * *

_May, 1970_

Going to the museum when one was friends with Gaila was an entirely different experience. As she noted, since her last name was on one of the wings, the least they could do for her friends was allow them access to exhibits in progress.

Which was how Christine and Janice found themselves in the middle of a Lichtenstein show to be opened the next week. Janice loved the bright colors, everything so poppy and fresh and such a relief after the dour expressionists that had dominated New York when she first moved there. She certainly felt more comfortable working in this style. So much expressionism had been so very _male_.

"It's like one of Scotty's comic books," Christine said. "Nothing like what they taught us art was at school."

"But do you like it?" Janice asked, as she always did.

Christine smiled. "I think I do," she said. "Though that's a bit egotistical, isn't it?"

"Why would that be?"

"Oh, so many of these women look like me, don't they?"

Janice looked around the room, and it was true—many of the women in the paintings did resemble Christine, with their chin-length blonde hair and blue eyes. "Well, you don't look like that now," she said, "with your new haircut and all."

Christine was in front of a painting called "Hopeless," which depicted a woman crying, her head on a pillow. "No," she said, turning to Janice. "I meant because they're all so sad."

Janice came to Christine and took her hand, squeezing it as they stood looking at the painting, and after a moment, Christine squeezed back.

After they'd seen the exhibit they made their way down to the cafe and ordered some tea sandwiches.

"So how are you doing really?" Janice asked.

Christine smiled. "Oh you know, it comes and goes. Hard to give up on something that was your dream for so long. Or it should be, but I think I gave up on that dream a long time ago. I was distracted by my work, trying to fit it into his work so we could work together, really trying to fit myself into his life I suppose." She paused. "I realize now why your visits became less frequent."

"Roger never was my biggest fan," Jan said.

"He just didn't care for who I was when I was with you."

"Yourself?"

"At least, not the girl I'd been when he met me. He couldn't regret Radcliffe; he needed to have an educated wife. And I did want to be his perfect companion—isn't that what we were all trained to do, really?"

"Yes, I suppose we were."

"But that isn't what you did, or Gaila, or even Nyota. Last night, Nyota said that she was jealous of me and Roger for working so closely together, but it was _his_ work—and we hadn't talked about much other than that for years. Maybe we never _had_."

"Now you really will have your own work, separate from him."

"And thank goodness for that. That's the thing the three of you have all had, that I didn't. I mean, the boys did, of course."

"They don't have to make choices," Janice said. "It can be very lonely, and not just for me. Gaila does a lot of running around, but she makes sacrifices to her independence; she could have married so many times, but she doesn't want to. Even Nyota had to be more single-minded about her career in order to get on that tenure track and then have children. Wonderful as Spock is, he won't be the one raising them. And I, well …"

Christine took her hand, but said nothing, just rubbed the back of Janice's hand slowly with her thumb.

"Anyway," Janice said after a bit, "I still have my work."

"How is that, now that you've changed coasts?" Christine asked. "I admit I was surprised to hear you'd moved to the seaside. You never did many landscapes."

"I like having the space to think, to not have to react immediately to whatever's on the cover of _Art in America_ or go to everyone's gallery opening. I realized if I wanted to chart my own course I had to get out of New York. It had opened my eyes to possibilities, and I wouldn't trade my years there for anything, but it was time to move on."

"Not just artistic possibilities, as I recall."

"No," Janice said, hoping not to blush. "But it's still an artistic community. Nothing I'd do would shock them."

"Such as having a female lover."

"Such as having a female lover, yes."

"But you don't have one now," Christine said. "I mean, you didn't move out to California with anyone."

"No," Janice said. "You know I'd tell you, if it was serious."

"Of course. I'm sorry, I interrupted you. Go on, tell me about Big Sur."

"It's more individualistic, more independent than New York was. I've met quite a few nice folks and there are regular events and all, but it's less about the new thing and more about whatever work people wish to pursue."

"And what do you wish to pursue?" Christine asked.

"Well," Janice said, "I'm still painting women, primarily, but I've become less interested in specific women and more in archetypes. In how we're walking away from some things and right into others. Like, with this Equal Rights Amendment—we'd stop being just, as you say, the perfect partners and become our own women, but what does that look like? I don't think any of us know."

"And that's good?" Christine asked. "Because I admit, I'm scared to death."

"We're all scared to death," Janice said. "It's good that we're doing it anyway."

"Walking into the unknown? Well, at least we all have each other."

Janice watched as Christine took an appropriately delicate and ladylike bite of her sandwich. Funny how even when she was dating a fellow painter it was never as easy to talk about her work with any of those girls as it always had been with Christine. Gaila and Nyota too; they always asked and were genuinely interested, and both of them sent her little clippings of things she might be interested in. But Christine could look at Janice's paintings and see the conversations they'd had. Janice hoped that she could do the same for her friend, now that she was off to pursue her own work at last.

Christine looked up. "What is it?" she asked, becoming self-conscious. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Janice said. "Not at all. You look just fine."

* * *

When Janice wasn't at Nyota's, or out shopping for her (usually with Christine), she generally found herself curled up on a chaise in the bright, sunny front room of the Kane home. It was done up in the latest urban style, familiar to Janice from some of the gallery owners she knew in New York, all sleek white furniture and a rug with a deep pile. Bits of statuary from Gaila's travels dotted the clear glass occasional tables and the larger oval table in front of the couch. There was barely a straight line to be found, which Janice rather liked. It allowed her mind to go rambling.

Her sketchbook was on her lap, but she was doing more thinking than drawing. Which was fine; she still hadn't entirely absorbed the move and what it _meant_ to her work. She still felt liminal; free but unformed. At least she had enough savings to last until her teaching job started in the fall, and there were still a few pieces at the gallery in New York that would likely sell. So she allowed that the process was just going to take some time.

And if most of the figures she found herself idly sketching resembled the blondest of her former roommates, well, she wasn't going to worry about that for now, either.

"Excuse me, Miss Rand?"

Janice looked up to see one of the people who worked in the house. "Yes?"

"Phone for you." He had a soft blue princess phone in his hand and quickly plugged it into the wall, then handed her the receiver, as if they were in a fancy restaurant. Then he walked away, his steps silent against the carpet.

"Hello?"

"Hey kiddo! How's tricks?"

"Jim!" she said, sitting up. "What are you—is there anything wrong? Carol's okay, isn't she?"

"Everything is fine!" he said. "Carol has started to show but you know that isn't going to slow her down one bit. As long as I keep her plied with plenty of papaya, she seems happy."

"You sound happy, at least," Janice said.

"I am! Can't I just call?"

"Not unannounced, on a Tuesday, when I'm at someone else's house." Jim knew well how much Janice hated to miss his calls, so they'd worked out a system—if he was in one place for a while, he'd try to call once a week at the same time. If not, he'd send a telegram with the time of his next call, often in some silly, easy-to-decipher code he'd told her about in one of his letters. It had surprised her that the phone calls didn't slow down even a little after his marriage to Carol, that he still liked to call her "my own girl," but then Jim never had done anything in the usual way.

"Okay, you got me. Just got off with Bones, thought I'd check in."

"You mean _gossip_."

"I did hear that you and Christine have been spending time together. At least, that's how she tells it."

"We all have, all four of us," Janice replied, because other than the museum and one of those shopping expeditions she hadn't been alone with Christine.

"Sure, sure," Jim said. "Just funny that Christine had more to say about good ol' Jan than her own divorce or her about to have a baby friend who's supposedly the reason she's in San Francisco in the first place."

"You mean the friend who's always thought she and her host make the perfect couple?"

"Oh pshaw," Jim said. "You know that won't happen."

"You might," she replied, "but I don't."

"She won't put up with him," Jim said. "He needs—he needs someone who can ride his ups and downs without getting worn out."

"Oh Jim," Janice said. He'd carefully put away that part of himself in love with Leonard long ago, enough that he seemed to be genuinely happy with Carol, and certainly excited about the child he'd never thought he'd have. But still, Janice worried about him.

Jim cleared his throat. "Anyway maybe he'll find that with someone, but that someone isn't Christine and you know it. Just the fact that you're worrying about it tells me that you're still thinking about her."

"Doesn't mean anything."

"Well, certainly not if you don't do anything about it," Jim said.

"Really? You expect me to make homosexual advances on one of my best friends?"

"You've done it before," Jim pointed out.

"Gaila did that," she said.

"What about that party you took her to where everyone thought she was a homosexual anyway?"

"She has good manners and knows how to fit in," Janice replied.

"I just—look, I know that my timing with Bones is pretty rotten," Jim said. "But I still think that someday, we're going to work this thing out. And I make my living knowing when the time is right to act, so I mean it when I say: the time is right for you, now. Don't let it slip away."

"Oh, I don't know, Jim," she said.

"You know I'm right, don't you? You can feel it?"

She looked out the window. It was growing dark, the city lights coming on, and she watched the cars moving along on their way to the bridge. "Yes," she said. "I can."

"There you are, then," Jim said. "You just needed permission."

"Which you're giving me?" she asked.

"Not only that," he said, "but if the whole thing goes sideways I promise to take the blame for it and shelter you in Honolulu until it blows over."

"You have a baby coming," she pointed out.

"Not until September," he said, "and, well, Carol and I do better when we aren't in each other's hair. She's a very independent-minded lady."

"You like them like that, when they don't want all of you."

"I do, but it can make the day-to-day a bit tricky. The kid, though. A kid, Janice! Me!"

"You sound so happy."

"I am, and look, I also think this will happen for you, someday."

"Christine said the same thing," Janice said.

"Of course she did. So?"

"So, I suppose I should ask Gaila if there are any discreet restaurants?"

"You are in San Francisco," Jim said. "It's a damn good place to look."

* * *

_July, 1967_

Christine came to visit Janice in the summer of '67, once she'd finished her MD and was about to embark on the extra push to the PhD. Roger couldn't come, not that he was particularly fond of either New York or any of Christine's college friends. Janice had visited Chicago twice since they had been graduated, once with Gaila and Nyota and once alone, and Roger had been open in his disdain for all things non-scientific, even including Nyota's linguistics work. Janice had the sense that Christine behaved a little differently when her former roommates were around, a way that Roger didn't appreciate. Still, she seemed happy with him, and he never treated her with anything other than respect—he saved his sarcasm for her friends.

Christine stayed in Janice's tiny one-room apartment on Jane Street, and during the day they explored the city, Janice showing her every happening thing in the Village, all the artist hangouts where she was known and welcomed, all the galleys featuring the pop art that was everywhere that summer. The painter-boys called Janice "Anybody's" after the West Side Story character, though she liked to think she wasn't quite as tomboyish as that. But she was the token girl in the gang, once they'd stopped seeing her as a model, realized she'd never be a girlfriend, and actually seen her art. They liked Christine well enough, though they noted that she was more obviously "Radcliffe" than Janice was.

The lesbian scene was of course a bit more underground—not as far as the gay scene, but hidden enough—and Janice preferred private parties to the clubs that could be raided at any time. Her friend Gladys, a poet, held one of them in her garden apartment and Christine insisted that Janice not turn down the invitation.

"I will not stand in the way of your meeting the girl of your dreams," she said.

Janice scoffed at the idea. "I'll probably already know everyone there," she said. "It's the same gang at all of these parties."

"You never know," Christine said, wagging a finger. "There could be someone new, or you could see the same person a bit differently. Happens all the time."

So they made their way to the upper west side, donating cash in the bucket at the door and a bottle of rum for daiquiris. Janice made a few introductions, but was surprised to see one girl, Trudy, making a beeline for them.

"Chrissie Chapel, my lord!" she shrieked.

Christine turned and a flash of panic swept across her face, though it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Gertie Lloyd?"

"It's Trudy now," she said, and hugged Christine tight. "Certainly not a surprise to see _you_ here! Though I'd heard you'd up and got married?"

"Yep," she said, holding up her left hand in that way Janice remembered from college, though the gesture seemed less smug than it had then. "To Roger, that grad student who helped teach the Bryn Mawr summer course we went to."

"Really?" Trudy asked, and to Janice it seemed she had the same opinion of Roger that Janice herself had. "Then what does bring you here?"

"Janice and I were roommates at Radcliffe," she said. "Trudy and I went to boarding school together, and then she went to Smith."

"Of course I did," Trudy replied. "After all you taught me, where else could I go?"

Christine laughed, but her smile was tight. "Oh _you_!"

"Boarding school?" said Gladys, who'd appeared at Trudy's elbow. "My god, Truds, is this that older girl who turned you at the tender age of fourteen?"

"The very one," Trudy said. "Though of course she was only sixteen herself." She looked at Christine, then said, "But as we've all learned, there are plenty of girls whose enjoyment of a bit of fun under the blankets at school is just a phase."

"Well, I'm glad I never grew out of that phase!" Gladys said, putting a Pall Mall into her cigarette holder. "Light me, won't you, Trudy baby?"

After that Janice quickly lost Christine in the crowd. She didn't worry over that too awfully much, though, as Christine had always been better at the endless round of mixers and cocktail hours and teas that made up Radcliffe social life. And she'd parried Trudy's seemingly unwelcome stories with her usual grace. Janice was glad she had that spring break to hold onto; helped make her feel a little less jealous.

Janice made the rounds, seeing friends and a few former lovers in the piles of girls clustering on any flat or soft surface—Gladys indulged in that "Moroccan look" that meant there was little to no actual furniture, but rather mounds of pillows here and there and a good number of beaded curtains in the doorways. Janice was three daiquiris and a glass of chablis in when she found Christine laying back like a pasha on a chaise in the garden, surrounded by the kind of girls who could be counted on to trot smartly whenever there was a new girl about. She caught Christine's eye and raised her eyebrows.

" _That's_ my friend," Christine said, her words a bit slurred as she vaguely pointed in Janice's general direction.

Janice still wasn't sure what happened next, only that a sheet of white had flashed before her eyes. Never before had she been able to get one of those more aggressive girls to back off when she'd been chatting someone up; she'd always just ceded the ground and tried again later. But this time she must have done something, even though Christine certainly wasn't hers to claim, because they scattered almost immediately. Sheila even whispered an apology as she walked by.

"My goodness," Christine said. "I guess you're the top dog around here, aren't you? You've been holding out on me, you sly thing."

Janice settled down next to Christine on the chaise. "I'm really not," she said. "Must be you."

"Hmm," she said, rolling so her face was mostly in Janice's hair. "Wanna take me home?"

"There might be a riot," she replied. "You've gained quite a crowd of admirers in a short time. No wonder you needed Len to beat them off for you at school."

"They're not much. Silly girls. You got rid of them, anyway. You can be my Len tonight."

"Keep you pure for Roger, you mean?"

Christine smiled, slow and lusty, and Janice had a flash of that night in the summer cabin. "Roger who?"

She blinked. Well, one of them had to be responsible. "All right, time to get you on the IRT. Think you can manage the subway without anything coming back up?"

"My stomach is rock solid," she said, sitting up. "My head isn't, though."

"Then the cab is on you."

By the time they got back to Janice's apartment Christine was nearly asleep, her head pillowed on Christine's shoulder. She woke when the cab stopped, and once upstairs they collapsed into Janice's bed and fell asleep.

The next day Christine was her usual self, and the rest of the trip proceeded without incident. But a few weeks later Janice ran into Sheila at yet another party.

"How did you get on with that friend of yours?" she asked, winking in that vulgar way of hers. An affectation; Sheila was almost as blue-blooded as Gaila.

"Oh, she's married," Janice replied.

Sheila cocked her head. "Yeah, like that's ever mattered," she replied, and walked away.

* * *

_May, 1970_

When Gaila came home, with a Chinese dinner for the two of them, Janice asked, "So if I wanted to, say, go out to dinner with a lady …"

Gaila grinned. "I know just the place. They have the most wonderful Caesar salad and a splendid Beef Stroganoff. And very discreet, of course."

"Thanks," Janice said. "I hoped you'd know."

"And given how long you've been in San Francisco and how well I know you, I'm pretty sure I know the lady as well, and can I just say, thank goodness?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Janice asked.

"Oh come," Gaila said, waving her hand. "That whole business over spring break—that was for you two as much as it was for Nyota. Didn't you know that?"

"What? I mean, I, I don't understand what you're—"

"Of course you don't, dear," Gaila said. "Just know that Jim and Leonard have nothing on the two of you. But, let's not talk about that; I can tell it's making you uncomfortable. I'll just prattle on about my day, shall I? I do it so well."

"You do indeed," Janice said, and was grateful not to have to speak again.

* * *

Janice tried to hide her nerves when she called Len's house to ask Christine out to dinner, but she thought her friend might know something was up when she asked if she should dress and Janice replied, "Of course."

Janice spent about an hour with the flattening iron, getting her hair as sleek as possible before braiding it in one long thick plait, then coiling it across her forehead so it framed her face. The shorter tendrils at her temples she made into two tiny braids that swung free, and the up-do had the added benefit of making her neck look longer. She put on her new red minidress, which was sinfully short, just barely decent really, and her tall black leather boots. Mascara, pearlescent dark blue and barely-there white eye shadow, and lipstick in the creamiest pink, and she was ready to go.

Gaila, thankfully, had wandered off to force Scotty to take a break from the books, so she wasn't around to comment. It was a quick cab ride to the little restaurant, half-hidden downstairs from a cafe. She arrived a bit early, then sat at the bar to wait. Looking around, she could see that she was absolutely in the right place—nothing but ladies everywhere, the only men being the wait staff. The decor was that old-time turn-of-the-century look that was so popular in San Francisco but done to a richer effect, with deep red velvet curtains separating the restaurant from the bar, and each booth from the other. The tables in the center of the room were round and generously proportioned, clearly intended for larger parties while couples canoodled in the semi-privacy of the curtained booths.

And when Christine walked in, every head turned—as it damn well should, Janice thought. She looked so modern in her short hair, and she was wearing the same brown suede boots from the other day, but this time she had on a blue minidress as short as Janice's and trimmed at the cuffs with gold brocade. She wore large blue earrings that swung down to her collar bone, and mascara that brought out the blue of her eyes.

Janice watched Christine take it all in—the room full of women frankly admiring her; the knowledge that yes, they were finally on a date; and Janice herself, sitting on the bar stool, legs crossed. When she stood up and approached Christine, Janice knew she was the envy of every girl in the room.

"Hello," she said.

"What a lovely place," Christine said. "I can see why you chose it."

The maitre'd escorted them to their table, one of the booths along the wall. He told them of the specials, handed them the menus with a flourish, took their cocktail orders, then left them be.

"So I have to ask," Christine began.

"Yes?"

"Is this—I mean, are we on—"

Janice couldn't help but smile at Christine stumbling over her words, but she didn't look up from her menu. "This is a date if you'd like it to be, Christine."

Christine turned to her and touched one hand, and Janice looked up. "I'd very much like it to be," she said.

"Good!" she said, smiling, then turned back to the menu.

Their cocktails came then, the waiter showing impeccable timing. Janice held up her glass.

"To us, then," she said, smiling.

"To us," Christine replied, clinking Janice's glass.

"So, what sort of wine should we get? I might be in the mood for a red; Gaila said the beef stroganoff was highly recommended."

In a way, it was much like any of the thousands of times they'd had dinner together over the years; easy conversation about Janice's sketching and Christine's grant proposal and Gaila's latest escapades and that Len seemed to be cheering up with Christine in the house and that Nyota seemed very tired when they were at her house the day before. Janice got the beef and Christine the lamb and they shared a bottle of rather good burgundy, despite it having been made in California.

Except this time, they kept inching closer together along the curved bench seat of the booth, discretely pushing their plates closer. They'd always shared a bite of food but this time they fed each other, locking eyes as they ate. This time, all Janice could think about was getting Christine back to Gaila's place and hoping that Gaila wasn't around to make some silly comment and burst the perfect bubble that was forming around them.

But the interruption came nevertheless, just as they were contemplating the dessert menu. "You can't go back there, sir," the maitre'd said, and then the distinctive low growl of one Dr. Leonard H. McCoy.

He appeared in front of their booth, as disheveled as Janice had ever seen him, his hair sticking up every which way and wearing what looked like surgeon's scrubs under a leather bomber jacket. "Very sorry to interrupt you ladies," he said, then turned around. "Very sorry to interrupt all you ladies. But we're needed at the hospital."

Christine's eyes widened. "You mean?"

"Yep," he said. "Just got the call. It'll be a few hours yet, sounds like, but Gaila's already there and you know how she gets."

"Good lord," Janice said, downing her wine and signaling for the check because when she was nervous, Gaila had a tendency to fight authority, which would be much in evidence in a maternity ward.

"Come on, I parked right outside," Len said, leading them out to the car. But he was sweet about it, insisting they both ride in the back, even opening the door for them and bowing low as they stepped in.

Once they were on the road he said, "So it's about forty minutes to their hospital from here, and you ladies will be going from one public place to another. So I suggest that you take advantage of the comfort of my back seat for a bit. Promise I won't look, but for the sake of my upholstery please keep it above the waist, won't you?"

"Leonard!" Christine said.

"On second thought," he went on, "since my plan worked so well, I'd be within my rights to take a few peeks, wouldn't I?"

"Oh my god," Christine said, putting her head in her hands.

"What plan?" Janice asked.

"Well," Leonard said, smug as anything, "Christine here has been yammering about you all month, hasn't she? So when Jim called I just suggested that she say something to him as well, because he was sure to call you, and then you'd finally do something about it."

"Finally?" Janice said. "Christine just got divorced!"

"Okay that's a fair point," Leonard allowed, "but I heard about that party you took her to in New York. Really, what you girls get up to!"

Janice sighed, because a smug Leonard was almost unbearable, and it would be unfair to throw a married-and-expectant-father Jim in his face. So she decided to admit defeat.

"Fine," she said. "Look all you want. I'm not shy." Then she pulled Christine into her arms and gave her the kiss she'd been wanting to give her all week. Christine gave back as good as she got, just like that first time, pressed together in that narrow little bed. Now they were sitting in the back of a car necking like teenagers, Christine's arms wrapped around her, their legs entwining, until Christine was fully in Janice's lap, grinding against her, their breasts pressed tightly together.

"Hey! I said above the waist!" Leonard said.

"Oh shut up, Leonard," Christine said.

"All right," he said, and Janice could almost hear the shrug in his voice. "You want to show up at the hospital with mussed hair, smelling of sex, be my guest."

That stopped them, and Christine slumped down on her side of the seat. "Tease!" Christine said.

"Oh I don't think anybody is teasing anybody anymore," Leonard said, but he was laughing, and soon Christine and Janice were too. Then Christine lay her head on Janice's shoulder, and they sat like that, hand in hand, the rest of the way to the hospital.

When they arrived Gaila and Scotty were indeed already there, and clapped a little for Janice and Christine, who demurred, saying, "It's only been one date!"

"But a good date?" Scotty asked.

Christine looked at Janice, and nodded. "Yes, a very good date."

Now there was little to do but wait. They took turns going to the cafeteria for more coffee, and every 45 minutes or so an increasingly agitated Spock would appear with little to no news. Nyota had opted for natural childbirth—none of this knock you out and wake you with the baby nonsense for that modern woman—and they were all on edge, pacing and flipping through old magazines and listening to Leonard hum absently under his breath.

After nearly four hours, Spock reappeared, looking tired but smiling ever so slightly, as he had on his wedding day. "A boy and a girl," he said. "Isaac and Rebeccah."

They all surged forward to give him a hug, and then after another wait, he came back out and led them into the room where Nyota sat with the babies laying in her arms. She looked exhausted and a bit peaked, but happy.

Janice hung back just slightly, letting the others have their turn, and Christine stood with her. "It'll happen for you," Christine whispered to her.

Janice turned to her. "Maybe someday," she allowed. "Maybe for us."

 

* * *

  


**Radcliffe Class of 1963**   
_Tenth Anniversary Report_   


CHRISTINE CHAPEL. _Address_ San Diego, Calif. _Occupation_ Doctor, Researcher in Tropical Diseases, Associate Lab Director, Scripps Research Institute _Degrees_ MD, PhD, Univ. of Chicago.

Took back my name in 1970, and I'm glad to have it. Don't think I'll be giving it up again.

After spending a little time in San Francisco with friends, I moved down to San Diego with my friend Janice to take up a position here at Scripps. I'm doing my bit for women's lib just by being a female scientist and standing up in front of classrooms of men and women, gaining their respect through my knowledge and experience. If even a small number of the talented women who come through our labs become scientists, I'll count that as a success.

After leaving Chicago I shifted the focus of my research from the long since dead to the still-living. Doing some post-doc work at UCSF helped me to focus my interest on working out the way diseases spread in the Third World, and now I'm working with a UN grant and planning a trip to Zimbabwe Rhodesia. I keep thinking about the philosophy of our friend Spock, about trying to be a responsible scientist, and I suppose this is my effort in that direction as well.

 

GAILA KANE. _Address_ San Francisco, Calif. _Occupation_ Student of the world.

The lovely thing about having so many friends around the globe is that one has the opportunity—nay, the _obligation_ —to travel to as many distant lands as possible. Over the last five years I've spent time on every continent save Antarctica, and don't think that isn't on my list! We truly are in the Jet Age, and that is making this big old world smaller by the hour.

The more I travel the more I realize that it isn't that people are all the same—it's the infinite diversity that makes this planet wonderful, not just for flora and fauna but folks as well—but that so many of us are up against the same problems. Our fight for women's lib grows stronger as we reach out to our sisters in other nations. The civil rights movement gained strength from the nations of Africa, and now the children of the diaspora are returning to help bolster the struggling democracies that have thrown off their colonial chains. I hope that the current thaw of that not-so-Cold War, the detente, will lead to a real lasting peace so we can assist countries around the world without demanding their political fealty in return.

I think my travel is making me into quite the radical, but I dare any of you to be where I have been and see what I have seen and then call radical politics merely "chic." And I'm working on putting my money, and the money of others, where my mouth is. As they say on the television, stay tuned.

 

JANICE RAND. _Address_ San Diego, Calif. _Occupation_ Artist, teacher.

After a wonderful several years in New York, I moved out to California in 1970 to try to find my own voice, away from the daily churn of the art world. I moved first to Big Sur, a lovely artistic community but, in the end, a bit too removed from the world for my taste—too much of a swing from New York. So when my friend and former roommate Christine decided to take a position at Scripps, I moved down to San Diego with her, and got another teaching position at one of the local colleges. The students fuel my creativity in ways I couldn't have imagined, and the city has just the right blend of places with people and nature without them that I'm inspired every time I look around.

And it shows in the work; in the last two years I've had some one-woman shows here in San Diego and also back in New York. I'm still painting women, still fascinated by how we manage to make our way in a world that for so long has wanted us to all be the same, has trained us to be the same. It's those little moments of resistance that I try to find, and capture, and hopefully treat with all due respect.

 

NYOTA UHURA. _Address_ Berkeley, Calif. _Occupation_ Professor of Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. _Degree_ PhD, Harvard University. _Husband_ Spock '63, October 15, 1967. _Children_ Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.

So I wrote a book, was granted tenure, and had twins, all in the same five-year period. It gives one a strange sense of permanence.

Yet, there's nothing like having small children in the house to make one aware of time passing in even the smallest increments. It seems every day the two of them will discover something new—I say the two of them because as soon as one works out how to do something, their first act is to teach their twin. There is group childcare on campus and a friend's daughter comes in from Oakland to be a mother's helper on the weekends. I'm even more aware now of what my own mother had to give up in order to have us children, and feel a responsibility to be as much of a role model for my twins as she was for all of us.

My own work continues at a breakneck pace; it's nigh impossible to keep up with the variety of neologisms floating around the youth culture these days, but one shift I am glad to see (and noted in my book) is that there is more cross-pollination, if you will, between black and Latino slang and that of their white counterparts. Slang in the Asian communities here in California continues to be a bit separate, but even that is changing as the kids become more removed from exclusion acts and cultural revolutions, as China itself opens to the world while the second generation of the mass emigration watch the same Saturday morning cartoons as my own children.

 

* * *

  


They were finally going to have that baby.

Well, Christine corrected in her head, they were probably going to have that baby. There was no reason to think there would be any problem at all with the artificial insemination; it might take a few tries but the technology had improved beyond just using a turkey baster. Scotty had strong little swimmers and all of the tests they could do on Janice came up that she was fertile as hell; if she'd been with men all this time she'd probably have had ten or twelve children by now.

But one, one was enough.

She could hear Janice puttering around in the room they were converting from storage to a nursery, starting the sorting process. They were going to have quite the yard sale this summer, she was sure—and visit plenty in their turn, because completely outfitting a nursery was pricey, and even though Janice's work sold well and Christine was highly regarded at Scripps, they didn't make _that_ much.

Christine was sitting in the den on her regular Wednesday night phone call with Leonard, where they watched _Charlie's Angels_ (his indulgence; sometimes they watched _Baretta_ instead) and talked about everything and nothing. Ma Bell took not a small amount of money for this weekly hour-long rap session, but it was worth it just to hear his voice and be able to joke and laugh. And when they did their budgeting for the baby, Janice, bless her, wouldn't hear of Christine giving it up.

This particular night they were talking about something or other, likely something silly, when Christine heard one of the extensions pick up and a familiar deep voice say, "Oh, sorry," and hang up again.

"Do I recognize that voice?" Christine asked, because even with just two words she could recognize Jim Kirk.

"Look, Sabrina is running without a bra," McCoy said.

"Don't you try to distract me with Kate Jackson," Christine said. "Why is he there and why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't tell you, and because I can't tell you."

"Truly?" she asked.

"Truly."

Christine was quiet for a moment, because that meant that Jim was in San Francisco on official business, and she wondered what that could be, what sort of spying might be going on in San Francisco. But at least she could trust him to keep Leonard safe, and to not have let him in on whatever was going on if there was any real danger; after all, he'd done pretty well by Spock last month, when they'd helped that man defect.

 _Oh_. Maybe Leonard had a young Russian physicist in his home that very moment.

"Well, now that I do know, how is that?" she asked. "Cozy?"

"Why do you ask?" McCoy said innocently.

"Len," she said, because he knew damn well why—back in that summer of 1970, when they were both newly divorced, he'd told her about his trip to Europe with Jim. And she knew, sure as anything, that there were still feelings there, had always been feelings there.

McCoy sighed. "There are other people here," he said, and she thought she must be right about the physicist. "It's not like we're alone. But I don't know. It's nice to come home to dinner again, and have people I know in the house. Honestly I'm trying not to think about it. There's other news, but I'll have to wait to tell you about that."

"Fair enough," she replied. "Just be careful." She knew that Jim cared for Leonard—Janice had told her as much—but she also knew how single-minded the man could be, and he couldn't have both Leonard and the Air Force. Leonard had been sort of alone for a while now, and Christine wasn't sure if Jim was aware how very vulnerable Leonard was these days, how easy it would be for Jim to get his hopes up without even meaning to.

Leonard sighed and said, "I will, Chris."

Over the phone line Christine could hear a dull knocking sound. "Just a minute," Leonard said, getting up, and then she could hear him handing over the phone.

"Hi Christine," Jim said. It was so like him to know that she'd recognized his voice and not pretend for one second that he wasn't there.

"Hello there," she replied. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, you too."

"You want me to get Janice?" she asked.

"Could you?" he said, and he was like a boy getting a toy, seriously. They were both just boys, come to think of it.

She stepped out of the room and called up to Janice, who came right down when she heard Jim's name. Christine put her hand over the receiver. "We're not supposed to know he's there," she said.

Janice nodded, and took the phone. "Hello? … Oh that would be wonderful, of course we'll be here. We haven't any travel plans. … Lovely, I'm so looking forward to seeing you. Seeing you _both_ , I hope," and here she winked at Christine, then gave her back the phone.

"Well!" Leonard said.

"Remember what I said."

"I will. I promise. I'll talk to you next week, at least."

"Okay, bye now." She hung up the phone and switched off the TV, and she and Janice sat down in the lounger, Janice on her lap.

"So, they're in the same house," Janice said.

"Think Jim will give up flying?" Christine asked.

"You know," Janice said, "I think he might."

* * *

The next day Janice said, "I'm heading into the city today. Do you need anything?"

Christine was confused; they usually ran their errands on Friday evenings, combining it with the treat of dinner at the local pizza parlor. "I don't think so, but why are you driving all the way in there? Gallery appointment?"

She smiled, a little shy. "I need to send a telegram," she said, and showed Christine what she'd written on a bit of scrap:

YOU ARE WONDERFUL STOP THE TIME IS RIGHT FOR YOU NOW STOP THERE ARE OTHER KINDS OF WINGS STOP BRING HIM WITH YOU WHEN YOU COME STOP

Christine smiled. "You're a good friend," she said.

She shrugged. "They gave us a little push when we needed it," she said. "I'm just returning the favor."

* * *

Jim called on Friday to say that yes, he was bringing Leonard, and they were driving down the PCH and should be there sometime late Sunday. But there was nothing about what might or might not have happened, and Christine was curious as anything, and a little irritated by Jim's tendency to keep secrets.

They arrived in a ridiculous air-brushed van that had to have been Jim's idea, and indeed he got out of the driver's seat with a spring in his step while Leonard looked back at the vehicle with a scowl.

Janice had started to walk down the driveway toward them when she stopped, staring.

"What are you looking at?" Christine asked.

Janice pointed at the ring on Jim's finger—Leonard's Harvard ring—and grinned. "Well, it's about time," she said.

"Yeah," Jim said. "About the right time."

Christine cocked her head. "But what about the Air Force?"

"Retiring in a year," Jim said. "But I'll tell you all about that later. Tell me about this baby!" He walked up to Janice and put a hand on her abdomen.

"It ain't there yet, idiot," Leonard said as he gave Christine a hug.

"Are you good?" she asked.

"Darlin'," he said, "I am all kinds of good. What about you, mom?"

"Never thought I'd be called that," she said. "But it sounds good to me."

 

* * *

  


**Radcliffe Class of 1963**   
_Fifteenth Anniversary Report_   


CHRISTINE CHAPEL. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Doctor, Researcher in Tropical Diseases, Associate Lab Director, Scripps Research Institute _Degrees_ MD, PhD, Univ. of Chicago. _Partner_ Janice Rand '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

I admit I had never thought about motherhood all that clearly, so focussed was I on career and marriage. Seems I just had the wrong partner, an odd thing to say when going from man and wife to woman and woman. Rosemary is starting school in the fall and we aren't sure what we'll do with her gone all day. It's certainly a bigger change, being a mother, than being a lesbian, but perhaps that's because I always was a lesbian, and wasn't always a mother. I'm taking a very short sabbatical to help with our new tiny girl, but then it's back to the lab for me with an even larger purpose of making the world better for Rosemary and whatever children she might choose to have.

 

GAILA KANE. _Address_ San Francisco, Calif. _Occupation_ Founder, The Orion Fund.

After much thought, and consultation with trusted friends and advisors, I've decided to put my travels, my own money, and my fundraising abilities to work running my very own charitable fund. I'm lucky to have a friend like James Kirk to be its administrator, and Radcliffe women like Nyota Uhura, Christine Chapel, and Janice Rand to serve on its board. We're still working on the focus, but rest assured that I'll be picking the brains of as many of you as I can this spring when we meet again in Cambridge!

 

JANICE RAND. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Artist, teacher. _Partner_ Christine Chapel '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

Rosemary arrived just under the wire to be included in this year's report! And as you might imagine, I have next to no time to do much other than keep her fed and clean. Couldn't even begin to attempt this without the support of a wonderful partner like Christine.

My art was featured in the August, 1975 issue of _Art in America_ , but that was before Rosemary came into our lives. Figuring out how to work with a small one in the house will be a challenge, but luckily I have many of you wonderful classmates to ask for advice, as well as my fellow women artists.

 

NYOTA UHURA. _Address_ Berkeley, Calif. _Occupation_ Professor of Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. _Degree_ PhD, Harvard University. _Husband_ Spock '63, October 15, 1967. _Children_ Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.

What a difference having school-aged children makes! Not only is our house slightly more orderly, but their curiosity is more focussed, coming out of their lessons at school. They look to their parents for answers and when we don't have them it becomes an adventure to find them together. If we can inspire in them a love of learning, then we really will have accomplished something. My husband is taking a larger role in their day-to-day now that they have a routine of school and various activities. He speaks often of being inspired by them, and I can only smile as that has been my experience as well.

Meanwhile I'm hard at work on another book, this time youth language with an international perspective, watching how music and film and television brings words from one country to another—mostly from the US outwards, to be sure, but also in the other direction via artists who come to Hollywood to ply their trades.

 

* * *

  


**Radcliffe Class of 1963**   
_Twentieth Anniversary Report_   


CHRISTINE CHAPEL. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Doctor, Researcher in Tropical Diseases, Lab Director, Scripps Research Institute _Degrees_ MD, PhD, Univ. of Chicago. _Partner_ Janice Rand '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

Now that I've assumed one of the lab director positions here at Scripps, I'm doing less of my own research and more facilitation of others. But I find that this is a good position for me to be in, as it allows me to vicariously investigate several interesting questions at once. I could do without the grant paperwork, but all jobs have their downfalls. And every time I see a young woman walk through the door, in particular the undergraduates in our summer programs, I know that I'm helping to inspire the next generation of women scientists. They don't have nearly the obstacles that we did, and they're better for it, but they still need all the encouragement they can get.

Another way I can encourage them is by reassuring them that while you can't have it all, as they say, you can absolutely have a family and a career, provided you find the right partner and are willing to do some juggling and make some sacrifices. We haven't made many major trips since Rosemary was born; mostly up and down the coast to San Francisco, back east to see my parents, and to Arizona to visit Janice's siblings. But once she's old enough to have a full and rich experience, we absolutely plan to get her traveling as much as possible. I can't wait to see this big old world of ours through her eyes.

 

GAILA KANE. _Address_ San Francisco, Calif. _Occupation_ Founder, The Orion Fund.

Well, my project is not so small any longer! The Orion Fund is five years old now and we've already seen results from the programs we've started here in the States and in other parts of the world. We're focused on an individual's right to control his or her own sexuality, a cause that I know is near and dear to many of my fellow Cliffies. Of course we have efforts to stop the spread of the HIV virus here and in Africa, but we are also working for reproductive freedom and against sexual servitude. (Yes, the "white slavery" we were all warned about as girls still exists, though its victims are often not white.) If you would like to become involved, please do drop us a line. Believe me, I'm more than happy to talk about our activities!

Personally, I'm just pleased to be able to do some good in the world, to share what I was fortunate enough to be given at birth with others that were given much less. I also spend time spoiling several honorary nieces and nephews, because I also had an eccentric spinster auntie and she inspired me to Radcliffe and thence to bigger and better things.

 

JANICE RAND. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Artist, teacher. _Partner_ Christine Chapel '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

We've built ourselves a lovely little family of ladies, Christine and Rosemary and me. We regularly bring Rosemary up to San Francisco to see her father and her large number of doting honorary aunts and uncles, and we have our visitors in return, but mostly it's we three, cozy as bugs in our little house.

Something about seeing Rosemary at her own little easel with her watercolors and crayons spurs me on, and while I certainly put out less work than in the past, I think it's better than it's ever been. Happily the galleries agree, and over the years I've managed to acquire a set of regular buyers, many of whom are professional women with their own money to spend. They've told me having my paintings in their offices inspires them, and it's true that their lives inspire me as well. Occasionally a journalist asks me if I'm interested in moving "beyond the lives of women"—but with women making up half the planet and still so underrepresented in art other than as mere objects of beauty, why would I? There is so much left to explore.

 

NYOTA UHURA. _Address_ Berkeley, Calif. _Occupation_ Professor of Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. _Degree_ PhD, Harvard University. _Husband_ Spock '63, October 15, 1967. _Children_ Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.

At the moment the most important thing in this household is the upcoming bar and bat mitzvah for the children, and thank goodness my mother-in-law is here to help, because my husband has only the faintest memories of his own ceremony, which is less than helpful. The children are also excited that their "cousin" David Kirk will be moving to San Francisco soon and attending high school with them.

As for me, I've written two more books and find that the language of youth culture is a nearly inexhaustible topic. Seeing how the new cable television channels for young people, particularly the Music Television that my children are all but addicted to, both creates and facilitates the spread of slang at a national level is, as my husband would say, fascinating. The children are not entirely enthused to know that their mother sometimes hears about slang even before they do, but I'm sure they'll get used to it. Or invent words of their own, which would be even more interesting!

 

* * *

  


**Radcliffe Class of 1963**   
_Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Report_   


CHRISTINE CHAPEL. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Doctor, Researcher in Tropical Diseases, Lab Director, Scripps Research Institute _Degrees_ MD, PhD, Univ. of Chicago. _Partner_ Janice Rand '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

1\. Four ladies—an artist, a doctor, a linguist, and a benefactor —walk into a bar. (You see, ladies nowadays have careers.)

 

GAILA KANE. _Address_ San Francisco, Calif. _Occupation_ Founder, The Orion Fund.

2\. They each as the bartender for a whiskey. (Ladies do drink something other than white wine.)

 

JANICE RAND. _Address_ San Diego, CA. _Occupation_ Artist, teacher. _Partner_ Christine Chapel '63. _Children_ Rosemary, b March 13, 1978.

3\. The ladies are eventually joined by four gentlemen —a pilot, a doctor, an engineer and a philosopher. (By choice, because ladies can be in bars unescorted.)

 

NYOTA UHURA. _Address_ Berkeley, Calif. _Occupation_ Professor of Linguistics, Univ. of Calif. at Berkeley. _Degree_ PhD, Harvard University. _Husband_ Spock '63, October 15, 1967. _Children_ Isaac and Rebeccah, b May 17, 1970.

4\. And they all lived happily ever after. (Together, but not the way you might think.)

**Author's Note:**

> Ridiculous pile of references includes: lesbian pulp novels of the 1950s; girl groups singing Brill Building songs; co-ed and career gal movies of the 1940s and 50s including _The Best of Everything_ ; Rodin's sculpture The Eternal Idol; _The Boys in the Band_ ; Neil Young's _After the Gold Rush_ ; The Beatles' _Let It Be_ ("Two of Us" and "Dig a Pony" are quoted); Laura Nyro; the wardrobe of Shirley Jones on The Partridge Family; Jenny from _Love Story_ jealously guarding "a few thousand lousy books" at Hilles Library (RIP); Vogue covers of the early 1970s; Roy Lichtenstein's 1963 painting "Hopeless"; and the paintings of Kelly Reemsten, however anachronistically; and of course, nearly 130 years of Radcliffe girls to talk to.


End file.
